


so what's it gonna be?

by randomstorygenerator



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, headcanon that yuuri was a beast in Juniors but for him it Doesn't Count, my kink is healthy communication, viktor Uses His Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:24:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9076378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomstorygenerator/pseuds/randomstorygenerator
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov wakes up in a cold sweat. 
Or, the one where they finally, finally talk it out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up drunk on Christmas to write this because I was so mad. 
> 
> The title is from What's It Gonna Be by Shura (which....is also a good song to listen to while reading this). 
> 
> What little Russian I've felt safe putting here was taken mostly from other fics and some really intense Googling. Solnishko = sun; kotyonok = kitten.

Viktor Nikiforov wakes up in a cold sweat.

He sits bolt upright in bed, heart thudding, because he _gets it_. He finally fucking gets it.

Beside him Yuuri shifts, rising from the fog of sleep just enough to articulate an indistinct sound of concern. They're in St. Petersburg, in Viktor's apartment, where they've been living together almost a month. With slightly trembling fingers Viktor reaches out with his right hand, the one with the ring, and cups Yuuri's cheek softly.

"Go back to sleep, _solnishko_ ," he murmurs. "Just...had a bad dream."

Yuuri nuzzles into his hand before turning his face fully into the pillow. Viktor's grateful that Yuuri's such a heavy sleeper. He probably won't even remember this in the morning. Viktor folds himself up, resting his chin on his knees as he watches Yuuri's breathing even out again.

He's such a fucking idiot.

It's taken him so long to put it together. It’s been a month since the GPF - he had conceded that making a comeback at the Russian Nationals was next to impossible, even for him, and so both of them had finished the year in Japan, where Yuuri had won gold at the Nationals while Viktor sorted out their papers for their move to St. Petersburg, both of them gearing up for Four Continents and Worlds. He thinks of Yuuri holding out his gold medal at the end of Nationals, smile turning sly at the corners. “Do you feel like kissing this now?” 

He understands now. Yuuri's ultimatum in Barcelona, his protest ("You were the one who said this was only until the GPF!"), his - insistence on ending everything, ending _them._ His determination to return Viktor to competitive skating, as if Viktor himself _wanted_ to go back to competing. He smacks his palm against his forehead. If he'd just - just laid it all out right there and then, he wouldn't have had to go to such drastic measures to ensure Yuuri didn't retire, didn't _leave him_ . He wouldn’t be stuck prepping for one more _unwelcome_ season competing. Yuuri was right - Viktor was the one who had set a deadline, the one who had said _we stop here and go no further,_ and he was also the idiot who'd changed his mind and didn't bother to voice any of it out loud. This was all his fault.

He's known for a while that Yuuri needs encouragement. Or - no, he needs _faith_ , he needs people's unwavering belief in his capabilities as a skater. He needs certainty, he needs a solid support system that _uses their words_ , and Viktor is an idiot to think that needs like that did not extend beyond skating.

He's always been more reliant on his actions to do the talking for him, and in the course of coaching Yuuri it’s generally worked out well. Yuuri is sensitive and intuitive to a fault, so Viktor had only ever needed a few choice words to get his point across. But clearly that tactic has failed him now. Yuuri the skater was different from Yuuri the person, and coaching him is different from being his fiancé.

Of course Yuuri assumed the worst. Of course he thought he had to end everything. He probably saw Viktor smiling randomly at some skater and thought Viktor wanted to run off and coach them instead. God, it was probably Christophe - or hell, even JJ. On his best day Yuuri is a tiny ball of anxiety and uncertainty and low self-esteem, so _of course_ -

God, he is such a fool. 

Viktor sighs and lies down, curling himself around Yuuri. He throws a leg over both of Yuuri's and burrows in between his arms so that his head is tucked beneath Yuuri's chin and his nose is buried in Yuuri's chest, using Yuuri's arm as a pillow. Yuuri shifts, murmuring indistinctly into Viktor's hair and moving the arm thrown over Viktor's shoulder lower so that his fingers just barely brush Viktor's ear, palm cupping his face. Viktor wraps his right arm around Yuuri's waist, squeezing as hard as he dares. He loves him. He loves him so much he could _die._

He'll fix this, he vows. Tomorrow, he'll fix this.

 

Yuuri blearily rolls over, hand on autopilot to snatch his phone from the bedside table and silence the alarm. Except there is no alarm and he instead smacks Living Figure Skating Legend Viktor Nikiforov in the face.

Viktor whuffs in surprise, stumbling back, and it's so similar to the sound Makkachin sometimes makes when a loud noise startles her that Yuuri's panicked apologies dissolve into a helpless fit of laughter.

Viktor's blushing furiously, hand over his nose where Yuuri hit him. "Yuuri," he whines, "why are you so cruel to me so early in the morning?"

"Sorry," Yuuri gasps out in between peals of laughter, "oh _god,_ Viktor, I'm sorry, really, but you - " and here he takes a huge breath to steady himself - "sounded so much like Makkachin that I - "

" _What_ ," Viktor says indignantly over Yuuri's renewed glee. He's fighting down a grin now, circling the bed and throwing a leg over Yuuri's waist. He has a glint in his eye that Yuuri knows _far_ too well _._

"Viktor!" Yuuri shrieks, as Viktor starts to tickle him mercilessly. "Stop, _stop -_!" He squirms, laughing breathlessly as Viktor pokes his neck. 

"You hit me in the face," Viktor accuses, face alight with laughter, "and you compare me to my _dog - "_

"It was a compliment!"

"You _laugh at me_ after I get up _early_ on our _day off_ to _cook you breakfast - "_

Yuuri finally succeeds in getting Viktor's hands off of him and surges up to pepper his nose with kisses, only dimly registering what he said. He pulls away quickly, mindful of his morning breath, but Viktor just hooks a finger in the collar of his shirt and reels him back in for a much more thorough kiss.

When they finally break apart, Viktor leans his forehead against Yuuri's. "The food is getting cold, _solnishko,_ " he says, warmth suffusing every syllable. “I worked hard on it - you wouldn’t want all my efforts to go to waste, would you?”

Yuuri kisses his cheek, then moves to get out of bed. Viktor shifts off him, standing and taking Yuuri's hand to tug him out of the bedroom. "I didn't know you cooked," Yuuri says in careful Russian, shoving his glasses onto his nose.

"Only when I feel inspired to," Viktor winks back in his clumsy, endearing Japanese.

They switch back to English by silent agreement. "What did you make?" Yuuri asks as they reach the breakfast table.

Viktor gestures to the food with a flourish. "Just syrniki, mostly," he says, sounding almost apologetic, indicating the plate of tiny pancakes dusted with sugar. "Kolbasa, some bacon, and tea, of course."

"It looks great," Yuuri says, sitting down and smiling up at Viktor. "Sit down, let's eat."

They're quiet, mostly, except for when Yuuri takes a bite of syrniki and _moans,_ because it's so soft and sweet and _delicious._ He says as much to Viktor, who flushes up to the tips of his ears and smiles almost shyly at him. Yuuri's entranced.

"I haven't really had anyone but me taste my cooking before," Viktor admits.

"I almost want to keep this a secret," Yuuri says thoughtfully, scooping up some more jam. "I kind of want to be the only one who knows what your cooking tastes like."

Viktor hums. "What do you call it when you say something but it's actually a - how do you say - metaphor? For something else. Something dirtier," he clarifies.

Yuuri wrinkles his nose. "A euphemism?"

"Then you not wanting anyone else to taste my cooking - is that a euphemism for something?" Viktor teases. He reaches across the table and drags his thumb across Yuuri's lower lip, before pulling away to show him a smear of jam on the pad of his finger. Then he slowly brings his thumb to his mouth, keeping his eyes fixed on Yuuri. His tongue darts out and he licks up the jam in a long, slow stripe across his skin.

Yuuri swallows. "I think you're the only one making euphemisms around here."

Viktor laughs, bright. "As much as I would love to do what you're implying, love," and here his gaze is downright lascivious as it flicks over Yuuri, "I do actually have plans for today."

"Mmm?" Yuuri says, still blushing, watching Viktor add a generous helping of jam to his tea. That hasn't stopped being weird yet, even if Viktor had already been doing it in Hasetsu. The first time he’d asked for jam at breakfast had been a surreal experience.

"Mmhm," Viktor agrees. "Can I steal you away for the day, _solnishko_?"

Yuuri shrugs. “I didn’t have much in the way of plans today, anyway. What did you have in mind?”

Viktor beams at him. “It’s a surprise, of course!” He gestures at Yuuri’s half-finished food. “Eat up, darling, and let’s go after breakfast!”

 

Viktor’s only a little bit nervous.

He stuffs the hand holding Makkachin’s leash into his pocket. He’s only really got the vaguest of plans for today, but last night’s determination to put things right has stayed with him. _Making Yuuri breakfast was a good idea,_ he thinks, watching as Yuuri drew his coat tighter around himself. He reaches out and twines his fingers through Yuuri’s. Yuuri smiles up at him, quick and fleeting, and he gives Viktor’s hand a brief squeeze.

“You haven’t really been around the city, have you,” he says almost absently. He knows the answer even as Yuuri shakes his head - they haven’t really done much aside from train for the rest of the season since Yuuri settled in.

“Are you taking me sightseeing?” Yuuri asks, curiosity tingeing his voice.

Viktor flashes him a smile and returns the squeeze. “Yes - but I’m afraid it’s not going to take very long. Makkachin can’t be out in the cold the whole day.”

“I don’t mind, Viktor,” Yuuri says warmly, and Viktor has to bite his lip as a new wave of appreciation and love for this man threatens to overtake him. Yuuri’s always taken what Viktor’s been willing to give him, nothing more or less, as long as it was _Viktor the person_ offering it. He’s tried to do the same for Yuuri, but he can no longer avoid the knowledge that, at least in this one crucial instance, he’s failed.

It’s all right. He’s going to make it better. He just doesn't know  _how_ yet. 

“Have you been to the Summer Garden?” he asks.

Yuuri hums. “No.”

“That’s where we’re headed,” Viktor tells him. “It’s not far, although we’ll have to come back in the spring for you to see it in its full glory.” He tugs Yuuri toward a bridge to their left. “There shouldn’t be too many people there now.”

The Summer Garden in winter is quiet, coated in snow and peace. Yuuri releases a breath once they pass the gates. Viktor glances at him, but he’s looking around with a smile on his face. Makkachin whines and pulls on her leash, tail wagging. Viktor knows where she wants to go and lets her lead, pulling Yuuri along with him.

“It’s so peaceful,” Yuuri breathes. He says something in Japanese, too fast and low for Viktor to catch.

“Makkachin and I come here regularly in the summer,” he says. Both of them are speaking in low voices, as if speaking louder would instantly shatter the heavy mantle of silence surrounding them. They reach Makkachin’s intended destination: a bench situated between two trees in front of the river, with a clear view of the buildings on the other side of the shore. They settle down on it, and Viktor heaves Makkachin up into his lap. He pulls a blanket out of the backpack he brought with him and wraps her up in it.

“She looks cozy,” Yuuri comments, as Makkachin pokes her face out of the burrito Viktor’s made of her, tongue lolling out in a little doggy smile.

Viktor laughs as he wraps an arm around Yuuri’s waist to pull him closer. Yuuri obliges and Viktor arranges Makkachin so that she’s a warm weight lying comfortably across both their laps. “She’s spoiled,” he says fondly, stroking her back.

“ _Spoiled_ is an understatement,” Yuuri snorts, fingers scratching Makkachin’s chin idly. “She does whatever she wants, Viktor, it’s a wonder she’s housebroken at all.”

Viktor leans back on the bench, laying his arm out along the cold metal and playing with a thread coming loose from Yuuri’s jacket. “I wouldn’t have been allowed to keep her if she wasn’t housebroken.” He looks out at the half-frozen water. Chunks of ice are bobbing across the inky surface. “My parents were very strict with me about that - if I wanted a dog, I would have to train it myself.”

 “How did you manage that?” Yuuri wonders. “My - my parents made the same deal with me. When I got Vicchan - “ he glances at Viktor furtively, blushing up to the roots of his hair - Viktor’s never gotten over the fact that Yuuri named his dog _after him_ \- but now he only quirks half a smile at him and gestures at him to continue, “ - I about went crazy juggling studies and skating and taking care of him. I was solely responsible for him, and he was a miniature _._ ” He boops Makkachin on the nose, and she licks his finger in response. “Nowhere near as big or active as Makkachin.”

 Viktor shrugs. “To tell you the truth, it was a nightmare. But I managed. Much the same as you did, I imagine.” He tips his head back as a seagull flies overhead, its cries reverberating through the empty park. “It got easier once I finished high school. I didn’t bother with college anymore - I went straight to skating fulltime.” He turns to look at Yuuri. “Sometimes I wonder what I missed, not going to college.”

Yuuri snorts. “Not much,” he mutters, which startles Viktor into a laugh. He knows Yuuri studied sports science in Detroit along with Phichit. According to him, it drove them both crazy. “It’s - it was so hard, competing at my level and studying in college at the same time.” He pauses, glancing at Viktor, but he’s listening raptly. He wants Yuuri to tell him everything about his life, from his first memory up until now - wants to swallow Yuuri whole and have him live in the spaces between Viktor’s ribs forever, so Viktor never has to go without him again for even a second.

“I was still in Juniors when I went to Detroit,” Yuuri continues thoughtfully. “I didn’t have the guts to debut in Seniors until I was eighteen, you know.”

Viktor hums. “Your last year in Juniors, you won the GPF.”

Yuuri flushes. Viktor has browsed through the trophies on display back in Hasetsu, has committed every single one of Yuuri’s victories (and failures) to heart. He’s seen the gold medal engraved with Yuuri’s name. “It’s not the same. Besides, I failed to qualify the next year.” He reaches out and takes Viktor’s hand, the one that’s resting on Makkachin. “It was terrible. I’d spend half the time training and the rest of it studying. I’d leave the country for competitions and come back to piles of homework. Group projects were the worst,” he sighs, leaning his head on Viktor’s shoulder. “There were times at competitions I’d get off the ice and head straight for my laptop so I could turn in an assignment on time.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I even had an email template. Dear Professor, I’m sorry if this is late. I’m currently in [insert foreign country] for a figure skating competition and I have misjudged the time difference…”

Viktor laughs and Yuuri trails off, grinning. Viktor lifts the hand lying along the back of the bench and strokes Yuuri’s hair. “You’re right. I would have hated to do that. I’m terrible at multitasking.”

“You are,” Yuuri agrees fondly.

They stay like that for some time, two men sitting quietly on a park bench with a bundled up poodle on their laps, staring quietly out at the water. Eventually Viktor stirs, because as much as he loves Yuuri his shoulder is going numb and they need to bring Makkachin back to the apartment. He unwraps her and she jumps down from their laps. Yuuri stands, brushing off fur from his pants. “It’s a little early yet for lunch, isn’t it?” he asks. It’s just past eleven.

Viktor hums. He’s just thought of something, something  _absolutely inspired_ and  _brilliant_ and  _amazing_ _._ He fights down a grin. There is no way Yuuri would have any doubt of his intentions, not after Viktor’s finished with him. “We’ll drop Makkachin off at the apartment and go out for lunch, how about that?” 

Yuuri nods agreement, and they walk out of the park, hands entangled and swinging between them.

 

Viktor seems to be searching for something.

Or at the very least, he has a destination in mind, but he also doesn’t seem in a great hurry to get there. They’d eaten lunch at a hole-in-the-wall Italian place, both of them guiltily indulging in pasta and a slice of pizza each. “What Yakov doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Viktor had said with an air of satisfaction, pouring parmesan on his pasta.

“Y _ou’re_ also my coach,” Yuuri’d pointed out helpfully.

Viktor had winked. “Ah, Yuuri, today I’m your fiancé and nothing else.”

Yuuri flushes now, unable to help a small, pleased smile as he watches Viktor walk ahead of him, head bent over his phone. They’ve been wandering the city for an hour, headed mostly west. Viktor’s shown him some tourist sites, but mostly it’s been places that are significant to him, like the tiny bakery whose equally tiny owner greets Viktor like a son, bouncing up on her toes to throw her arms around his shoulders. Viktor’s bent nearly double as Anna Dmitrievna - as she’s introduced to Yuuri - pokes and squeezes his cheeks, speaking in rapid Russian. To Yuuri’s growing delight, what he can understand is mostly Anna Dmitrievna declaring that Viktor is _much_ too thin and that he needs to eat more if he is to stay as handsome as he is. She presses pirozhki on them and Viktor’s beaming, pink-cheeked and boyish, as he sweeps Yuuri from the bakery and back out into the street.

Viktor shows him the wide, sprawling plazas, and tiny alleys, nooks and crannies of St. Petersburg, and it’s obvious how much he loves the city and how deep he’s set his roots. Yuuri’s glad - glad that he didn’t let Viktor retire, that he didn’t keep Viktor from coming back to skating and coming back to this. Russia is home for Viktor, and for Yuuri to keep him in Hasetsu would have been more selfish than taking Viktor from the world.

Viktor pauses at a bridge. It’s almost two in the afternoon. The sun is weak but shining, and the snow is still fresh enough that it crunches under Yuuri’s boots. Viktor leans his elbows on the railing, gazing out at the dome of the cathedral in the distance. Yuuri comes to stand next to him, laying his hands lightly on the granite railing. Viktor seems contemplative, eyes far away and one finger on his lips.

“What’s this place called?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor doesn’t answer immediately. When he does speak, his words throw Yuuri off for a moment.

“At the banquet after last year’s GPF,” he says, and Yuuri feels a blush rise furious and immediate on his cheeks. Viktor, Christophe, and even Yurio had shown him the pictures and videos, and Yuuri doesn’t think anyone in the skating world would let him live it down for the next hundred years. He had known _instinctively_ that those pole-dancing lessons he’d taken with Phichit would come back to bite him in the ass one day.

“I - I apologized,” he stutters, covering his face with one hand.

Viktor quirks a smile, but he’s still not looking at him. “And I already told you I didn’t mind, Yuuri. Nevertheless - “ he sighs, flicking his hair out of his eyes. “You asked me to be your coach that night.”

Fiddling with his gloves, he continues. “I was already thinking of taking the season off, you know. Makkachin - she’s not getting any younger, _da_? And neither am I. I wanted to be there for her when she…” he trails off, wringing his fingers.

Yuuri reaches out and takes Viktor’s hand, laying a kiss on each knuckle. “You don’t have to say it,” he says gently.

Viktor nods, swallowing. “Anyway, I was thinking of taking a break, but I didn’t know what to do with myself for one whole year. I wanted to keep skating, but without competitions what was the point? And then you showed up at the banquet, got drunk, and blew all of our minds.” He shakes his head, chuckling. He squeezes Yuuri’s hand. “You - did I tell you this? You challenged me to a dance-off while grinding on me and begging me to be your coach.”

“Oh _god,_ ” Yuuri groans. “You told me about the begging but not the _grinding._ ” Fuck, he’s so embarrassing. He’s never going to touch alcohol ever again.

“It was eye-opening,” Viktor says fondly. “Not the grinding, although - “ he flashes Yuuri a wolfish smile “ - that was very surprising, and welcome too. I hadn’t ever considered _coaching_ before. Choreographing, maybe, but coaching?” He lets out a laugh, short and a little bitter. “By then my definition of coaching was _Yakov,_ and we know he’s not for everyone.”

Yuuri silently agrees with a half-smile and a nod, and after glancing at him, Viktor continues. “I kept thinking about you. You didn’t show up for the rest of the season and no one else had heard from you either. I looked for you at Worlds, thinking maybe you would be in the crowd, you would be watching, but no. I thought - well, he was drunk, he probably didn’t know what he was saying.” He sighs. “Then the _Stammi Vicino_ video was posted and I thought it was you… calling out to me, that you hadn’t forgotten and that you still wanted me to come and coach you.”

“Viktor,” Yuuri breathes. He hadn’t heard this side of the story before - beyond the initial recounting of that night’s events and Viktor quietly asking him “So you really don’t remember?” in the hotel room, they hadn’t had time to talk about it. Not like this.

“So I did it. I packed up my things, I took Makkachin with me, I showed up in your onsen naked.” Victor smiles. “Now that I think about it - I must have looked like a complete idiot.”

“I was so confused by your behavior,” Yuuri admits. He’s fidgeting with his ring, twirling it around and around his finger. “You were so _forward._ I thought that was just how you were.”

Viktor laughs. “Sometimes. But only to cute figure skaters who get blackout drunk and beg me to coa - "

“ _Viktor!”_ Yuuri shrieks, and covers his face. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you!”

Gentle hands are pulling his hands away, and then Viktor’s turning his face into Yuuri’s palms and dropping gentle kisses there. “No, _solnishko,_ never,” he says, grin sharp and wicked against Yuuri’s skin.

“ _Ugh,_ ” Yuuri says. His face is so warm. He can only imagine how he looks like, beet-red and disheveled. “You’re the _worst._ Did you know that? You’re worse than Mari, worse than Phichit, worse than - "

 

Viktor pulls him close, and Yuuri’s mouth snaps shut. They stand like that, Viktor’s back against the railing and Yuuri pressed to his front, arms around each other. Cars and trucks trundle past them on the road, but Viktor pays them no attention. His eyes are intent on Yuuri’s. “I’m definitely not worse than either of those two,” he says, eyes twinkling. “But I could be, given time.” 

“I just had a vision of the next fifty years of my life,” Yuuri says dryly. Viktor’s fingers tighten on the small of his back. 

“Speaking of that,” he says quietly. “Yuuri, I have a question.”

He sees the flash of anxiety on Yuuri’s face, and hurries to follow it up. “Nothing bad, love. But it _is_ important.” He studies Yuuri, who is wearing a questioning, if slightly anxious, expression. “When you say _the next fifty years of your life,_ ” Viktor says slowly, “do you mean it?”

Yuuri jolts, clearly surprised, and tries to pull away, but Viktor’s hands are locked around the small of his back and he refuses to budge. “W - what do you mean, Viktor?” he stammers.

“I mean,” Viktor says, willing Yuuri to keep his eyes on him, “are you intending to stay with me that long? Longer, even?”

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, Vitya,” Yuuri says, sounding confused and _so,_ so earnest. Viktor _melts_ at the nickname. He loves the sound of it on Yuuri’s lips, has been wanting to hear Yuuri say it for the longest time, but at the same time feeling like it was slightly pathetic to _ask._

Well. Not asking had brought them here in the first place.

Viktor hums. “Really? Because I want you around for forever, and it just occurred to me that _your_ idea of forever and _my_ idea of forever might not match up. Hmmm?” he says at Yuuri’s wide, wild-eyed look of shock.

“Are you - are you asking to end this?” Yuuri asks, and fuck, Viktor’s starting to enjoy this.

“Did it sound like I was?” He traces a finger over Yuuri’s full bottom lip, making sure to keep his other hand firmly around Yuuri’s waist. “What I want to know is how long _I_ have before _you_ start asking to end this again.”

Yuuri starts to splutter, and _oh,_ those are his angry eyebrows, Viktor’s in for it now. He just raises an eyebrow as Yuuri says, incredulous, “Is this _revenge,_ Viktor?” He pushes against Viktor’s chest, but again, he doesn’t budge. Yuuri is strong, but Viktor’s got three inches and ten pounds on him, easy. Yuuri’s not going anywhere Viktor doesn’t want him to be right now. Even if it means having a fight on this bridge where everyone can see. 

“I mean it, _kotyonok,_ ” he says almost sharply. “When you win gold at the next Grand Prix Final, are you going to be sitting me down in the hotel room and telling me you’re leaving, again?” He’d been half-expecting it when Yuuri won at Nationals, really, but Yuuri had said _one more year_ and Viktor had said _at least five,_ even if both of them really meant _forever_ and somehow they had stumbled into staying together. Why did they keep putting timeframes on this, on them? _God,_ they really needed to talk.

Yuuri goes still. Guilt is etched onto his features before he drops his gaze. “I - I couldn’t keep you from skating, Viktor. I couldn’t take the world from you. I’m not - I’m not that selfish. I couldn’t have kept you happy for long. It was the right thing for me to do.”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor says, softly, helplessly, all urge to rile Yuuri gone. “Yuuri, _solnishko_ , don’t you know you gave me back the world?”

Yuuri doesn’t look up, but one hand clenches into a fist on Viktor’s chest. “Don’t joke about this.”

“You think I would?” It’s Viktor’s turn to be incredulous. “When you danced with me in Sochi, that was the first time I’d really had fun in a long, long time. Competing at our level - it drains you, you know this. I thought I’d lost my love for figure skating because it had taken so much from me. I didn’t want to stop, but I also knew it would kill me if I stayed.” He leans his forehead on Yuuri’s. His wide eyes meet Viktor’s. He looks worried.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers.

“No one knows,” Viktor reassures him, then reconsiders. “Except maybe Chris, but I don’t know how seriously he took my bitching at the time.”

Yuuri breathes out the ghost of a laugh.

Smiling, Viktor continues, leaning back against the railing. “When you danced with me, I rediscovered how to have fun. When you asked me to be your coach, I found a way out that still let me skate, still let me do what I loved, without the pressure of competing.” He lets out a sigh. “Because for better or worse, I no longer loved competing.”

Yuuri is quiet. Seagulls wheel in the sky above them. Cars and trucks belch smoke into the air, and passersby step around them, with only a curious glance or two tossed at the two of them. It’s not unusual to find two people too caught up in each other to pay attention to the world around them - not here, not on this bridge.

“I meant it, you know, when I said you gave me back the world. Life, love - you gave me all of it. I’m _happier_ because of you, Yuuri,” Viktor says, each word deliberate and forceful. He has to make himself clear here. “And I think - no, I am _afraid_ \- that you don’t know that. You don’t know exactly how much you mean to me, even if I’ve kissed you in front of the world and put a ring on your finger and moved you into my apartment and _let you sleep beside my dog without me_.” He taps a finger on Yuuri’s forehead. “Don’t underestimate that last one - it’s more important than the rest put together.” He smiles.

Yuuri’s eyes are wet, but he isn’t crying - yet. “I’ve been an idiot,” he says. It’s almost a sob.

“We both have, Yuuri,” Viktor says gently. He cups Yuuri’s cheek with one hand. “I should have told you this earlier. I love you. I love you even if you never win another gold medal again. I love you even when we’re not skating. Yuuri,” and here he moves his hand, tilting Yuuri’s chin up, “please stay by my side and never leave me.”

 

Yuuri _does_ start crying then, and Viktor can only laugh softly even as he wipes away Yuuri’s tears. “Why are you crying?”

“Knee-jerk reaction,” Yuuri mumbles, which makes Viktor laugh more. “Stop _laughing_ , Vitya, it’s not my fault you make me feel all these _feelings._ ”

“What feelings are they?” Viktor leans in close, eyebrows raised.

Yuuri flushes and looks away. “Y - you know what.”

“Still want to hear it,” Viktor sing-songs, winding his arms around Yuuri and bending him back. Yuuri groans and pushes back, so that it’s Viktor who’s bent backwards over the railing, Yuuri’s hands fisted in his coat. Viktor’s eyes are bright and his smile is wide. Yuuri thinks he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I love you, idiot,” Yuuri says. “I love you. Stay by _my_ side and never leave _me._ ” 

Viktor hums. “I honestly thought we’d already established that.”

Yuuri lets go of his coat and Viktor straightens up with a smug grin, only for Yuuri to smush his hand into Viktor’s face. “You’re _impossible,_ ” Yuuri says exasperatedly. “Fucking _impossible,_ oh my god - "

Laughing, Viktor wrestles Yuuri’s hand away from him. “Is that the way a good fiancé acts? That’s the second time you’ve hit me in the face today, Yuuri,” he points out, pouting.

“This time I _meant it,_ ” Yuuri assures him.

Viktor flashes him a grin, then sobers. “You asked me what this bridge was called, earlier.”

“Am I finally going to get an answer?” Yuuri asks dryly.

Viktor sighs. “Where was all that sass when we were training for Japan Nationals,” he says to the sky. Yuuri rolls his eyes and nudges him. Viktor smiles again. “It’s called Potseluyev Most - literally, the Bridge of Kisses.” His smile turns wicked, and Yuuri feels heat wash through him down to his _toes._ “Tradition has it that anyone passing by this bridge has to kiss, regardless if they were friends or lovers. And to kiss your lover on this bridge would ensure your happiness. The longer the kiss,” Viktor waggles his eyebrows, and _god,_ Yuuri can’t believe he put a ring on this man, “the longer and happier you would be together.”

“Is that so,” Yuuri murmurs, eyes on Viktor’s lips. “This is reliable information?”

Viktor nods, already leaning in. “You can trust me, I live here.”

Yuuri can’t help but smile. Viktor’s mouth is inches from his. “How long do you have to kiss?”

Viktor hums, eyes bright. He’s smiling. “I don’t know about you,” he murmurs, just before his lips come down on Yuuri’s, “but I have no plans for the rest of the day.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to this is the one where Yuuri wakes up in a cold sweat because he realizes that he forced Viktor to go back to something he hated haha oh no I made myself cry 
> 
> ***
> 
> I learned about Potseluyev Most from [this post](http://lazuliblade.tumblr.com/post/154842870633/anniech-as-a-proud-citizen-of-saint-petersburg). The Summer Garden I learned about from Google (I don't even know if they allow pets in there). 
> 
> If there have been any inaccuracies, please do tell me!! I'm from Asia and I know next to nothing about Russia except that it has great figure skaters and that you should not invade it in the winter.
> 
> Come yell with me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/partiallystars).


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